Of Consulting Detectives and Love
by Missing Thief
Summary: A series of one-shots. Mostly joanlock, mostly short.
1. Chapter 1

_I haven't written fanfiction (or anything else, really) in a long time. So, I thought this 30 day challenge ( post/39302697479/30-day-otp-challenge) was a fun way to get back into it and improve my writing. Reviews are hugely welcome. Also, I apologize for any mistakes I could've missed._

_Hope you enjoy it :)_

**Day 1. Holding Hands**

"Breakfast is served. C'mon, Watson. A gruesome puzzle awaits!" Holmes bounced on his heels after depositing a tray on Watson's bed while she turned herself away from his partner's cheerfulness and buried her face in the pillows. Holmes crossed the room and opened the shutters to let in bright sunlight.

"God, not this again" Joan covered her face with the blankets. "Seriously, Sherlock?"

I brought you breakfast and news of what appears to be an interesting case" he pulled the covers from her and motioned for her to sit up. "Up, Watson!"

Joan sighed in resignation as she sat up against the wall. "Okay. Give me" she gestured to the tray on her right. Sherlock handed it to her with a satisfied smile. "You have 15 minutes to get ready. Hurry up" he said as he exited the room.

A few loud whistles and a cab ride later, Holmes and Watson stood in Cap. Gregson's office skimming the case files of a series of cons executed on big companies for which, after checking every possible suspect, the police were no close to solving the case than when they started.

Watson recalled a similar and particular modus operandi on an old case of Holmes, and made a pair of young officers take the files to the brownstone so they could study both cases closely. Afternoon arrived and found them sitting on the dining room with police files all over the place and no progress.

"We've been at it for hours. Let's take a break. I'll make some tea" Sherlock nodded yes without taking his eyes off the documents he was examining. As Joan stood up and stretched, something caught her eye. She froze and looked again, more intently, as if to corroborate she didn't imagine what was written on the page. She hadn't.

"Sherlock, look" he lifted his gaze as she turned the paper around for him to read. His eyes registered the breakthrough, widened and looked at his partner in satisfaction and a certain sense of pride. "Well done, Watson". Tea was forgotten as the pair grabbed their coats, phoned Detective Bell to inform him of their discovery and rushed out of the brownstone and inside a taxi.

They met Bell at the back of an apartment building where they believed the criminals they were looking for gathered, and set themselves up for surveillance. After hours of sitting in the car without seeing any activity, Sherlock decided it was safe enough to snoop inside the building. Despite Bell's protests both consulting detectives got off the car promising to keep him updated should they notice anything abnormal inside.

Watson picked the lock of the building's backdoor. Holmes was the first to enter into what appeared to be a large empty room, illuminated only by the light that filtered through the windows. They decided against trying the light switches on the wall next to the door, and made their way through the place in the dark. After their eyes adjusted to the lack of light, they found a staircase to their left. They had climbed a couple of steps, when they heard someone pushing something (or someone) down the stairs. Soundlessly, the retreated to the room where they had come in hoping that whoever had a different path in mind.

They stood with their backs to the wall and the staircase, listening as the steps got closer to ground level and shifted away from them to an unknown location. Joan, being closest to the staircase, moved her head forward to glance at their potential suspect when several guns were fired in a room somewhere above them. Both of them started, Joan swallowed a scream and grabbed a hold of whatever object closest to her, which happened to be Holmes' hand.

They both looked in wide-eyed at each other when they realised what she had done. Holmes' eyes softened as he looked into hers. Their initial scare starting to give way, their hearts slowly returning to a regular rythm. He turned his head questioningly, _are you okay?_. _Hmhh_, she nodded rapidly . His thumb caressed the back of her hand. Two more shots echoed in the empty room. Sherlock motioned for the door and they slowly started they way back to Bell's car not once letting go of the other's hand. The two of them tried to convince themselves the handholding was only a reaction to the potentially life-threatening situation they inadvertenly were in, but both knew it was not just that.

As soon as the door opened and the chill air hit them, their hands dropped to their sides and they exchanged a look of sweet complicity. They quickly made their way to Bell's car while police sirens howled in the distance, minds racing and hands tingling with the ghost of contact.

_They might get longer (and hopefully better) as I make my way through the challenge. Again, reviews are highly appreciated._


	2. Chapter 2

**Day 2. Cuddling somewhere.**

It had been a tough case. Every prime suspect had a solid alibi, every potential lead turned into dead end, and Holmes was reluctant to rest despite functioning on little to no sleep for nearly a week. The case affected him deeply. As it always did whenever kids lives were on the line, and that worried Joan.

It was well past midnight. They were in the living room with case files filling the walls and floor, and the cracking of the fireplace interrupting the tense silence every now and then. "You know, you really should get some rest. I'll take it from here and I'll let you know if anything interesting comes up" Joan told her partner as he stood facing the fireplace with his eyes fixed on the information pinned to the wall above it. When Sherlock showed no sign he heard her, Joan grabbed their mugs and headed for the kitchen for what could've been the tenth coffee refill of the night. I really should bring the coffee pot with me this time, she thought. Going up and down the stairs was getting tedious.

When she got back, Sherlock was sitting cross-legged on the red couch skimming a document that he had thrown on the floor from the pile next to him. Joan set the coffee pot on the table to her left, handed him a coffee mug and sat on the other side of the paper mountain. "Thank you" he muttered, without lifting his gaze. Joan continued studying photographs of the crime scenes hoping she would find something after looking at them for the billionth time.

An unknown number of minutes had passed when Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh. "What is it?" his colleague asked. "I don't know what to make of this. It makes no sense" he shook his head and rubbed his eyes in frustration.

"Go get some sleep. You're not thinking clearly. We'll start over in th—"

"NO, WATSON!" his mug shattered on the wall opposite them statining mugshots and bank account statements. Joan winced. "Forgive me" he said in a soft voice as he sat back down on the couch with his head between his hands and his elbows on his knees. He heard her placing the files on the floor and moving closer to him. She reached for his arm cautiously. He tensed at the touch, but didn't pull away. Her fingers brushed the hairs of his forearm as she whispered it's okay and don't be too hard on yourself again and again. He allowed himself to relax into her touch and close his eyes. After a while, his head rested on Joan's lap and she caressed his hair. As much as he was enjoying this, he couldn't help but feel stupid and slightly guilty. He had lost control, frightening his companion and letting his emotions cloud his thinking.

Neither of them remembered the moment they feel asleep, but when a call from Captain Gregson woke them up, they were both stretched on the couch. Sherlock's head rested on Joan's chest, his left arm was draped around her middle and one of her hands was placed gently at the nape of his neck. At the the sound of the ringing phone, they disentangled from each other and exchanged akward glances as they pretended to straighten their clothes.

Sherlock took a deep breath before answering the phone "Captain Gregson!".


	3. Chapter 3

_In this fic the whole 'Joan moving out' didn't happen, that's all you need to know. Read on. _

**Day 3. Gaming/watching a movie. **

"WATSON!" Holmes said enthusiatically as he went through the Brownstone's dimly lit rooms looking for his partner. "I finally figured it out!". He was making his way downstairs when the sound of several gunshots stopped him in his tracks. His eyes opened wide and his chest felt heavy with dread. Ever since her kidnapping he had been even more protective of his partner, and he tried to have her in sight as much as possible. His paranoia had reach a level that even at home he was uneasy if they were in separate rooms, specially if he hadn't heard a sound from her in a while. He was aware he was bordering on ridiculousness, but he couldn't help it and Joan (oddly) hadn't commented on his more than unusual behavior. If she wasn't stopping him, he was not going to stop himself from guarding her because that could mean losing her.

In the time it took him to walk back to the living room and retrieve a gun hidden in a book, he mentally scolded himself several times for not being able to leave the precinct with her earlier that afternoon. He made sure the gun was loaded and walked upstairs. "Watson, are you alright?" he couldn't stop his voice from shaking no matter how hard he tried to push the thoughts of all the possible—grim— outcomes of that situation. When he was halfway up the steps, a gun was fired twice more. The media room he realized. Sherlock raced through the stairs and bursted in only to find Watson and Alfredo very much engaged in a Call of Duty game, the volume inexplicably turned as loud as possible.

Sherlock's arms dropped to his side and a look of utter confusion marked his features. "What's going on?"

Joan and Alfredo turned around startled. "Sherlock! You —" Watson's sentence was cut off as soon as her eyes saw the revolver. "Why are you holding a gun?"

"I had just arrived to the Browstone when I heard gunshots and—"

"You really thought someone had broken in and started shooting at me for no reason?" Joan's tone was reeking annoyance. "I don't object to your crazy methods, but I think you've gone a little too far today".

"I was certain you were being attacked. This was merely an attempt at rescuing my partner who might have been facing a life threatening situation". He lowered his gaze and shifted, almost shyly. There was a tense silence when Joan noticed his companion's countenance still held traces of blinding terror and genuine concern for her life and safety. Her face softened and she took two steps towards Sherlock, just as worried as she was thankful for the gesture. "Sherlock—"

"Oh, hello Alfredo" Sherlock looked up finally acknowledging his sponsor, who had been standing blank faced through the whole incident, cutting Joan short. "You still haven't answered my question. What's all this?" he said waving his arms and eyeing the console by one the television screens.

"Well, I just needed to clear my head, relax. I didn't feel like going for a jog and I wanted to diversify. I managed to borrow an Xbox from a friend, and then Alfredo showed up, so we just sat here and played".

"Hmm" Sherlock said and made a face Joan couldn't quite read. "Just remember to turn the volume down next time. I don't want to barge in here and accidentally shoot you or someone else in the process". No one seemed to find it remotely funny, so Sherlock stood there fidgeting and swinging his arms back and forth awkwardly.

"So, would you like some coffee, Alfredo?" Holmes said after a few moments of silence. "Tea, perhaphs?"

"Thanks, man. Actually, I was just leaving" the former car thief made for the door. "See you around". Everyone said their goodbyes, and Sherlock stared suspiciously in his direction after he had left, not quite believing he had come only to play some silly videogame with Watson, but he let it pass.

"Wanna give it a try?" Holmes turned around to find his partner offering him a control. "What?" his brow furrowed faking confusion.

"C'mon, it'll be fun" Joan flashed a smile.

"I'm afraid I can't, Watson. I have important matters to tend to. A number of experiments on my to-do list and the beehive—"

"Sherlock! We just solved a case this afternoon, and I'm sure your important matters can wait until tomorrow" she thrusted the control into his chest. "C'mon, do it for Clyde" Sherlock snorted at that, but grabbed the control nonetheless.

"So, how do I play this thing?"Joan explained the commands and the objective of the game. Every now and then he would turn to ask her something and she would stop to clarify and only resumed the game when she was certain it was clear for him. After all, it didn't surprise her that Sherlock has never been much of a gamer.

After a few rounds, Sherlock was actually enjoying himself and he managed to beat Joan for the first time. "Yesss!" his fists thrusted the air, he closed his eyes and threw his head back, satisfied. Joan refrained from making a young padawan kind of comment. Instead, she looked at him and smiled warmly. There were very few moments when she had seen him being spontaneous and carefree and she was glad he trusted and liked her enough to let her see this side of him. She then proceeded to start a new game and snatched his partner's control from his hand. Laughter and a fight for the control ensued, along with tickling and mock wrestling.

They played all night and until they heard birds chirping on the nearby trees.

_I think this turned out a bit silly and a __ittle ooc, but it's nearly 2am, so bear with me, please. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Day 4. On a date**

"Okay, that's it then. You can go home now and get a well deserved rest. Thank you very much for your help" Captain Gregson said to his top consulting detectives as he exited the room with some case files under his arm. Holmes' phone announced the arrival of a text. He read it, pretended to be annoyed by it and rolled his eyes. Joan was busy putting case files into boxes, but turned when she heard him muttering something. "Something wrong?"

"Something came up. See you for dinner at the Browstone". Sherlock stood up and left as he dialed a number on his phone.

"Wait, Sherlock! Where are you going?" Joan shouted after him only to be ignored. She stood in the middle of the hall watching him get on the elevator, but she made no move to follow him. It was clear her partner was up to something but she felt no desire to find out what it was, especially after a day of running around New York chasing suspects. All she wanted to do was crawl under the covers and rest for a few hours.

It took her almost an hour to organize the paperwork of the recently closed case. She knew she could just leave it there and some rookie officer would be assigned to the task, but she was Joan Watson: she couldn't help herself (even if she tried). When she finally got to the Brownstone, she made herself a cup of tea and changed more comfortable clothes, throwing on her red sweater before crawling under the covers. She must have been more tired that she thought when she woke up without remembering the moment she had fallen asleep. She opened her eyes and found Clyde making his way through the slopes of her blankets, wearing one of his cozies with a note attached to it that read:

_We're going to the country. I'll be back around 7 to pick you up. Be ready. _

_ P.S. Please don't forget to leave extra lettuce for me_

The last word was accompanied by an arrow pointing down at the tortoise and a smiley face. That was strange, even for Sherlock; Joan thought, but the prospect of leaving the city, even if it was for a case, seemed good enough for her and she smiled. Her face dropped when she looked at the clock by the nightstand. 6.40. Shit! She jumped out of the bed and ransacked her closet looking for something decent to wear.

At 7.00pm sharp Sherlock was on the foot of the steps calling for her. "I'll be there in a minute" she responded as her footsteps echoed on the floor above. He waited patiently for her, then they walked out of the building together where a very expensive looking car was parked. Sherlock unlocked it and moved to open the the passenger door without noticing Joan had stopped several steps behind. "Sherlock. What's this?"

"It's a '58 Jaguar XK 150. Isn't it a beauty?" he said, failing to conceal his excitement, looking appreciatively at the car.

"I mean, where did you get it?" Joan walked a few steps and was now standing next to Sherlock. She hadn't been able to see it before, but the car was a dark red —not black, like she had imagined— with a removable roof, and what little she could see of the inside was certainly very nice. Sherlock was right, it _was_ a beauty.

"It was a gift from a former client. But since there is very little chance to use it properly inside the city, I thought this was the perfect ocassion to take it out for a ride. Now get in or we're are going to be late" he reopened the door he had closed a few moments earlier. Watson got in only half reluctant, because if she said that she wouldn't enjoy a ride in a car like this, she was unashamedly lying to herself.

"Late for what? You still haven't to—" before she could finish the phrase, Sherlock shut the door and was already entering the car. "I am not allowed to reveal any details of our affair this evening until we arrive to our destination" he said as he adjusted his seatbelt and put the key in the ignition. Joan refrained from asking any more questions certain that his answers (if there were any) wouldn't help her figure out their destination. Besides, she thought, whatever adventure Sherlock Holmes was involved in was never dull.

They drove in silence for a while, glancing at each other out of the corner of their eyes from time to time. Joan could feel a nervous excitement radiating from Sherlock. It was not the usual glee that came with a new case, it was something else she couldn't quite put her finger on.

When they exited New York, Sherlock removed the top of the car and made the car's engine roar as he shifted gears. Joan laughed "This is great. I've never gone for a ride in a car like this before."He smiled warmly at her. "I'm glad you like it" he smiled, his voice soft.

A few miles later, they took a side road to their right that ended on a big gate. Sherlock opened the gate and drove the car through it until they reached a wide, impressive building that stood out from a treeline interrupting the steel blue of the sky with its charcoal shadow. In the darkness, it reminded Joan of those old familiy houses the characters of period dramas always live in.

"Here we are" said Holmes as he beckoned his companion to join him in the gravel path. "Where exactly is here?" she eyed the house and the vast, tall forest around it.

"The object of our investigative endeavors" he told her while searching his pockets for the house keys.

"But the house is empty"

"Exactly" he opened the door. "Our client has been a victim of a series of minor crimes in a number of his properties across the country. The criminal hasn't been identified, but he has the peculiar habit of striking every on the 20th of every month. Hence, our mission tonight is to apprehend the man, or woman, in question and take him to our client".

"Why didn't we call Marcus for backup. This person could be dangerous" Joan said as she explored the foyer and turned the lights on. "Turn the lights off, Watson. We don't want to inform anyone of our presence. I doubt it. The crimes comitted in this man's properties are trifle, nothing threatening our integrity. Now, follow me". Sherlock lead the way, using his cell phone as a lantern, through numerous rooms until he halted in front of a door. When he opened it, Joan saw a large table filled with candles and food in the middle of the room. To her left she heard the cracking of a fireplace and saw a few more candles arranged on the mantelpiece. Two large, curtainless windows stode at the sides of a small door that lead into a balcony.

"Is this some sort of date?" she turned confused and staring suspiciously at Sherlock.

"You know me, Watson. This was provided by our client to show gratitude for our services". Joan threw him a look that showed how easily she saw through his lies. "Okay" he sighed defeated "I may have organized a small trip to get away from the hustle of the city. I wouldn't consider it a _date_" he said the last word with a sneer and made a face. Joan chuckled.

"So much for being post-love" she moved slowly through the room, stopping to look at the food. Sherlock pouted, but said nothing.

They sat down and ate, easing into their playful banter, laughing at silly jokes. Sherlock eventually told her, the house belonged to a "very wealthy and very grateful client, who shall remain nameless" and that the _date_ was a payment of a favor he owed. After a while, they went outside and sat on the balcony, Joan looking at the stars an Sherlock looking at her, but pretending to be as interested in the celestial bodies as she was whenever she turned her head in his direction. Eventually, Joan fell asleep with her head resting on Sherlock's shoulders. He couldn't help but smile as he felt her hair tickle his chin and the sweet scent of her hair flood his nostrils.

_This chapter is kind of weird, because I really don't see Holmes and Watson going on a date. But, I hope you enjoyed it :)_


	5. Chapter 5

**Day 5. Kissing**

"Morning" Joan padded across the kitchen looking for her mug.

"Morning, Watson" Sherlock answered absently lifting his own empty cup for her to fill it. She did and joined her partner on the dining table. "Ok, what do we have here?" she said taking a bite of a ripe peach she took from the fruit tray. He didn't answer, his eyes were fixed on the paper in front of him.

"Sherlock" she reached for him, uncertain. Her fingertips brushed his forearm.

"I thought I'd lost you" his voice was almost unaudible, a murmur. His face bleak. "It's okay now. I'm okay" her hand stroked the wool of his jumper. "But what if you weren't" his left hand caught hers and stilled it on top of his arm. He caressed it with his thumb. "I know it's stupid to dwell in the past, much more on hypothetical versions of it, but—" his voice broke and Watson noticed the blurry, tearstained letters on the paper. He took a shaky breath and his head rose abruptly. Watery eyes locked into her own dry ones. "It's... just...You're the person I love most".

Joan stood and moved towards Sherlock, placing her free hand on the side of his face, caressing it. He leaned into her touch and put one hand over hers, turning slightly to kiss her palm. Sherlock closed his eyes and a pair of tears fell down his cheeks, too quick for Joan to stop them. She cupped his face with both hands, which made him look at her. She looked into his eyes and they stared back vulnerable and tender. Joan was certain Sherlock could communicate just as easily with his eyes as he could with words if he ever went mute. She had learned to read them so well. The gleam of satisfaction of a case solved, the way they clouded with anger and self-hatred when talking about the days he was addict or the child-like sparkle of fascination when they watched the _euglassia-watsonia_ emerge from the beehive. The language of his eyes had become as familiar to her as the creaks and crevices of the big old house she now called home.

He stood up, still holding her hand. He lowered his head and met her lips almost shyly. She returned the kiss and pulled their bodies closer. It was soft at first, delicate; they touched like they were two glasses made of crystal fearing a wrongly measured touch would shatter the other into tiny, insignificant shards. But it wasn't long until their lips parted, their tongues danced and teeth bit playfully. He tasted of coffee and tears. She tasted of peaches, overwhelming and sweet. They pulled away, breathing unevenly with their foreheads pressed together.

"You taste like peaches" he scrunched his face, she giggled "I don't like peaches". Sherlock laughed at her mock offended expression. He laughed that sweet, heartfelt laughter that comes after crying.

A text message alert on her phone woke Watson up. She sat up wide-eyed as she took a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair. She was confused and slightly regretful it had been a dream. She stared blankly at the wall for a few moments and got up, realizing that she had to face Sherlock, whether she wanted or not, and deciding she needed a nice warm cup of tea.

* * *

"Morning" Sherlock whispered in Joan's ear as he stroked the side of her face with the tips of his fingers. "Morning" she stirred, smiling and turned to cup his face in her hands. He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes turning his head, kissing Joan's fingertips one by one.

He disentangled his feet and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm going to make breakfast" he grabbed a t-shirt from the floor and put it on. "Tea or coffee?". When he got on his feet she grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. His body plopped loudly on the bed sheets. "No you're not" she gave him a smug smile. He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance and made to leave once more. She pulled at him again but this time he resisted. Joan huffed and he chuckled. "C'mon, Sherlock. Let's stay in bed just a little while. Breakfast can wait". When she received no response, Joan sat on her knees and pulled harder, managing to bring Sherlock down on top of her.

"Get off me. You're crushing me!" she laughed as she wriggled useslessly under him. "You said you wanted me to stay a little longer" Sherlock tickled her sides, which only made her to squirm and giggle harder. "Sherlock!" Joan had curled into side, failing to escape her companion's 'attacks'. When she was laughing so hard she could hardly breathe, she saw a chance.

One of her legs hooked on the back of Sherlock's knee causing him to lose balance. Just as fast, he was on his back with Joan's knees at the sides of his hips. The laughter stopped. Their labored breathing became the only sound in the room.

She leaned down, resting her palms on the sides of Sherlock's head, so close to his face she could feel his breath on her skin. "You are an idiot" she whispered, catching his lips in a rough kiss and smiled when he moaned at being taken off guard. His hands went to her hips and—

The whistling tea kettle woke Sherlock. He rose his head blinking sleepiness away and saw Watson cutting some fruit next to the stove. Something like a flush crept up his neck and he lowered his eyes, feigning interest in the dents and stains of the dining table. Joan took the kettle from the stove and grabbed a mug. Sherlock heard the water being poured. "Coffee?" he asked. "Tea" she answered without taking her eyes from her now full cup.

The rest of the morning went by in awkward silences, until a call from Captain Gregson made them forget (momentarily) their involuntary imaginings.

_I'm not really pleased with how this turned out, but since I watched around 6 hours of football a day during the past three days I figured I had to something remotely productive. So, here it is, hope you enjoyed it :)_


	6. Chapter 6

_The more or less regular updating of this series of fics was interrupted by an expected trip to the middle of nowhere, so sorry about that. But, from now on I'll try to update daily. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter. _

_I read somewhere that Sherlock's Brownstone room is in the basement, so that's were I put it in this fic. Also, for the sake of this fic, Joan and Sherlock's laundry/fridge cleaning deal includes taking clothes to the dry cleaning and putting them in the washing machine (I don't remember specifics on this, please bear with me). _

**Day 6. Wearing each others' clothes.**

"SHERLOCK!" Joan Watson shouted her way downstairs clad in a towel and holding a pile of clothes under her arm. Sherlock feigned obliviousness as he browsed an internet conspiracy forum on his laptop.

"I can't believe you didn't do laundry when I asked you to. I cleaned the fridge. _That _was the deal just this once". She was standing opposite him on the other side of the table making the laptop Sherlock's last line of defense against her rage. He was now feigning interest in the latest government alleged conspiracies when a heap of clothes blocked his vision. He sighed loudly and, looked up only to find a very angry Watson glaring at him. Her arms were crossed across her chest and little drops of water fell from her hair. Despite her attire, she was considerably intimidating, Sherlock told himself.

"Well?" she gestured to the heap of dirty clothes "Did you forget?". He snorted "I don't _forget. _Watson. I simply had more pressing matters to tend to. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have cases to solve" his hand cleared the table of her clothes throwing them on the floor. "Hey!" Joan moved forward to pick them up and threw Sherlock a glare that made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. It was when Joan stood up, with the pile of clothes under her arm, that she noticed Sherlock was wearing the same pair of black sweatpants he'd taken to the boxing gym two days past and no shirt. She remembered those particular pants because she liked the way they wrapped around his lower body. She couldn't help but stare whenever he climbed onto the ring, she'd watch him while he punched the boxing bags. Sometimes she would stare a second too long and he would look at her in a curious way until she snapped out of it and blushed slightly, but —oddly— he let those moments pass without making witty remarks.

Her lips curled into a smirk. "You're out of clean clothes too, aren't you?" Sherlock stared at her with a sort of horrified embarrasment for a second before collecting himself. "You're mistaken, Watson. _These_" he said, grabbing the sides of his pants and moving them rapidly back and forth like wings "are my pajamas". Joan saw right through his lie. "Of course, that's why you wore them to the boxing gym on Wednesday". He gaped and stuttered nonsense until he saw how pointless it was to argue. He sighed in resignation "I admit the urgency of doing laundry might have slipped..." he stopped abruptly looking and his eyes wandered somewhere behind Joan's head. A smile crept into his lips and before Watson could ponder what was Sherlock up to, he trotted down the stairs, two steps at a time. Joan followed close behind, still clutching her dirty laundry. As soon as she realized where Holmes was headed, she dropped her clothes on a chair nearby without making a sound.

Upon entering his room, Sherlock ransacked the —mostly— empty drawers of his dresser. "Aha!" he pulled a grey, worn t-shirt from the depths of the last drawer. Turning around, he did a little dance and shook the piece of clothing dangerously close to Joan's face. Before his little victory dance was over, Joan grabbed the t-shirt from his hand and darted across the hall and up the stairs. Sherlock cursed under his breath and started after his companion, and his clothes.

When Sherlock reached the top of the stairs, Joan was nowhere to be seen. He figured she had to be hiding somewhere in that floor, because he would've heard her going up the third story.

Joan was trying her best to stiffle laughter while she peeked at Sherlock from behind the armrest of his chair in the living room. She was wearing the stolen shirt and had the towel wrapped around her middle. Sherlock moved silently through the house, his eyes darting from left to right quick to scan every inch of the space. As he advanced through the living room, Joan moved further into the corner, almost knocking over some books from the shelves and falling loudly on one of Sherlock's innumerable experiments. Sherlock didn't show signs of noticing, instead he strode to the foyer. That gave Joan a chance to escape from her hiding place and she took it.

She moved swiftly past Sherlock's padlocks, producing a jiggling sound that made Sherlock turn his head. "Watson!" he yelled as he heard footsteps, dim and fast, moving toward the lower story.

The truth was he was enjoying himself playing this silly little game, it felt liberating and... fun. He didn't remember the last time he had felt this carefree. But that was something he would never admit to Joan, or even to himself. Still, Sherlock shook his head and smiled, taking his time to get to the kitchen and indulging himself in the unfamiliar feeling.

He found Joan in the kitchen making tea. It surprised him that she was wearing his t-shirt and the thought of her wearing his clothes every morning after spending their nights together took shape in his mind before he could stop it. He imagined what it would be like to wake up and go to bed together with Joan, to run his fingers through her hair and touch her skin. He quickly cut short that train of thought before it got too far. Sherlock cleared his throat loudly and Joan turned at the sound.

"Seriously?" he gestured at her body up and down and gave a judgemental look. Joan grabbed her mug and moved to the dining table. "Why not? We don't have a case and I don't have to run any errands". He took two steps forward and stared into her eyes as she held his gaze over the mug's rim. "I need my shirt. I have to go out". A staring constest happened spontaneously. "No, you don't" Joan said, defiant.

"How would you know"

"Are you sulking, Sherlock?"

"What? No, I'm not" he noticed Watson's amused gaze, pouted rather dramatically and turned away from her pacing in small circles. He faced her again. "Alright, I have nowhere to be, but I _am_ cold. My shirt" he stretched his arm in her direction and opened his hand. "Please" he said after getting no response from his partner. "If you're cold go get a sweater, then". He stared at her a little more, his frown dissolving and his eyes turning mischievously bright. He turned and trotted up the stairs. Watson narrowed her eyes at him, wondering what he could be up to, but decided whatever it was, was surely harmless and continued drinking her tea.

A few moments later, she heard Sherlock?s padding downstairs. Joan's cup froze mid-air when she saw him. Her eyes went wide and she gasped. "Sherlock, Oh my God!". He grinned as he poured tea in a mug and did a full turn before plopping down on the chair next to Watson.

Sherlock was wearing a red, cozy looking cardigan. _Watson's_ red, cozy cardigan.

"C'mon! Take it off, you're ruining it. It's too small for you" Before she owned it, the sweater had belonged to one of her closest college friends, a tall, broad chested anthropology major named Ian. But that was a detail she was not willing to share with Sherlock at the moment. "You kidnapped my t-shirt, it's only fair that I keep your sweater hostage. Besides, I think it rather suits me". "No, it doesn't" Joan swung her arm in Sherlock's direction, attempting to grab the sweater's lapel. Sherlock threw himself against the back of the chair just in time to avoid her assault. The next thing they knew, they were chasing each other around the table and giggling like a pair of five year olds.

Sherlock managed to catch Joan after several failed attempts, only when he did, he accidentally pulled her towel down. An abrupt silence fell in the room. "I...sorry" he mumbled as he turned away from Joan while she covered herself and reached for the towel.

"We should go do the laundry" Joan strode past Sherlock with her towel secured around her hips. He nodded and went behind her. Neither of them made eye contact or spoke a word as they walked to the basement.


End file.
